


lobsters and liberation

by boom_goes_the_canon



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Canon Era, First Meetings, Fluff, Getting Together, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Lobsters, M/M, Rescue Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:08:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25708711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boom_goes_the_canon/pseuds/boom_goes_the_canon
Summary: As a general rule, Bahorel is always available for committing crime before noon, after noon, and in the middle of noon. His office hours were varied and wondrous, available for friends and strangers alike. But today, he’s on vacation.He’s lounging in the main room of the seaside hotel, minding his own business and the business of the royalist couple sitting on the table beside his, when a complete stranger drops himself into the chair opposite him.“We need to free the lobsters,” the young man proclaims. “The lobsters need to be freed, and you shall help.”
Relationships: Bahorel/Jean Prouvaire
Comments: 14
Kudos: 19





	lobsters and liberation

**Author's Note:**

> For Poetry Smash Week 2020!

As a general rule, Bahorel is always available for committing crime before noon, after noon, and in the middle of noon. His office hours were varied and wondrous, available for friends and strangers alike. But today, he’s on vacation.

He’s lounging in the main room of the seaside hotel, minding his own business and the business of the royalist couple sitting on the table beside his, when a complete stranger drops himself into the chair opposite him.

“We need to free the lobsters,” the young man proclaims. “The lobsters need to be freed, and you shall help.”

Bahorel looks curiously at the slender young man, who was completely red-faced after making the announcement. He had the beginnings of a wispy little beard, his clothes had the distinct air that comes from deliberate mismatching, and his sleeves were stained and smeared with a rainbow of colorful ink. The stuffed vulture on his straw hat bobs ominously.

“Where and when?” he says finally, having the pleasure of seeing the young man beam.

“Right now, if you want,” says the young man, grabbing his hand, and with surprising strength, dragging him out the nearest open window. Bahorel has to hold his breath to squeeze through. He’s cut his fingers on the glass, but he doesn’t mind.

They land with a thump on the sand, Bahorel promptly squashing the young man in a tangle of limbs. The straw hat has been lost in the chaos. In the distance is the sound of people yelling. He scrambles to roll off his new friend.

“Well, that was a lovely start to a friendship,” the young man says, springing up like a jack-in-the-box and retrieving another, more ridiculous hat from some unknown pocket of his trousers. He jams his hat on his head, flashes his reflection in the broken window a dazzling smile, and sticks out a hand to help Bahorel up. “My name is Jean Prouvaire. Please call me Jehan.”

“Bahorel,” says Bahorel, accepting the hand. His blood thrums hot in his veins and he wants to make Jehan smile like that again, even if it is in a hat topped with the motley of a jester. “Always pleased to liberate lobsters with friends.”

“Oh, liberation,” Jehan says, as they sprint away. He’s immediately out of breath, and his beaded boots keep shedding beads and getting under their feet. “Liberation is the most worthy and noble of causes. It is—” he gasps— “the true pinnacle of humanity, every man, woman, and child free.” He has to stop at that point, bent over to catch his breath.

“And the freedom of lobsters,” Bahorel reminds him, and Jehan laughs helplessly. The ruckus behind them grows ever closer, and Bahorel makes a split-second decision. “Hold on.”

He grabs Jehan and perches him on his shoulders, and Jehan’s hands immediately tighten on his hair. “The nets are to your right,” he says, perfectly calm despite heavy breathing. His boots still shed beads, even as they frame Bahorel’s vision and dangle several feet from the ground.

Bahorel turns right. The open expanse of the sea is tempting, and he longs to kick off his shoes and wade around in the water. Alas, several lawyers are frolicking nearby, and he has to tuck his limbs as deep into his garments as possible and pinch his nose. He couldn’t possibly let down his guard around them. They emit a bourgeois miasma.

Jehan points at the lobster nets, baring a knife he produces from God knows where and yelling a battle cry of garbled Latin. Bahorel spots several lobsters entangled in the nets, and lifts the tangles up to Jehan so he can cut one free.

He must have succeeded, because he lets out a triumphant cry and clambers down Bahorel while clutching a lobster in each hand. “Free them!” Jehan says, tossing the lobsters back into the sea. “Be free! Be free!”

Bahorel starts ripping into the nets as well, as Jehan carefully circles the nets looking for more lobsters. A small one, probably immature, crawls up Bahorel’s arm as he removes the nets. He prepares to throw it into the sea.

“Wait,” Jehan says, holding out his hand. He lifts the lobster gently from Bahorel’s sleeve, cooing over it and patting its shell. “I’ll keep this one,” he says with the softest smile, and Bahorel just nods. Who is he to question this man’s choice of lobsters, especially when he says it with a smile like that?

The mood is eventually broken when the authorities arrive. Bahorel gets to punch someone. He gets to punch several someones, in fact, and Jehan puts up an impressive display despite his technique being lacking. When they are eventually restrained, both of them are laughing and Bahorel’s nose is bleeding.

“Oh, excuse me, officer, I’m not laughing at you, but I am laughing,” Jehan says, and it has the air of quotation. Bahorel elbows him in the ribs, and waggles his eyebrows at the likeliest escape route.

Jehan shakes his head and faces the officer again. “Whatever price the nets and lobsters fetched, I will pay it, of course. And apologize to the fisherman. Fishermen, sorry. Yes, officer. I am very sorry.” The glint in his eye shows that he is not at all sorry. It’s a glint Bahorel appreciates, and it remains as Jehan empties out his pockets to make reparations

There are several seashells, a tiny skeleton embedded in rock, a bottle half-full of ink, absinthe, hashish, dead flowers, a goblet fashioned from a human skull, and finally, money. A lot of money. It’s impressive, actually. Bahorel whistles as innocently as he can as the money changes hands.

“Oh, can I keep the lobster?” Jehan asks, as he returns everything back to their proper places in his pockets.

The harassed officer just waves him off. By then, a crowd has gathered, marveling at the spectacle. Bahorel poses for the impressionable young children. Jehan beams and holds out the lobster for everyone to pet.

They return to the seaside hotel, arm in arm. The lobster perches on Jehan’s hat, blending in well with the dripping seaweed already piled around the brim.

“So, why’d you choose me for your lobster liberation project?” Bahorel says, giving Jehan his biggest, most lascivious wink. Jehan has the decency to blush, which is fine by him.

“You have a foolhardy waistcoat,” Jehan says. “It’s eye-catching, and scandalizes the masses.”

Bahorel puffs up his chest proudly and grins to the horror of passerby. Jehan laughs.

“Yes, exactly,” he says. “I thought to myself—”

“—As opposed to thinking in the heads of other people?”

Jehan shoves him, hard. “As I was saying, a man who wears that sort of clothing in polite company—stop rolling your eyes, Bahorel, that’s what they call it—is the sort of man to be trusted with this sort of endeavor.”

“Says the man in the doublet and robe.”

Jehan grins and poses. “Do my clothes offend you?”

“God, no, I would never hold such respectable opinions.”

They’re very close now, barely an inch between them, and Jehan keeps _looking_ at him, with very large eyes and running his fingers over the embroidery of Bahorel’s waistcoat. It would be the work of a moment to bring their faces together. In fact, if he leaned down and put his hand in Jehan’s hair just right—

“Get a room!” someone screams from one of the buildings, and Bahorel nearly throws the nearest rock in its direction. Jehan looks ready for a fight as well, and the lobster has scrambled into his arms.

“That was quite rude,” Jehan says, frowning at the windows above them. “It was none of your business,” he adds, raising his voice.

“We could punch him tomorrow morning,” Bahorel suggests. “If he ever so much as shows the tip of his nose.”

“We could leave Lancelot du Lac in his bed,” Jehan says, waving the little lobster. “I am sure he would pinch the man. It is a noble cause.”

“Lancelot?”

“Lancelot _du Lac_ ,” Jehan corrects, patting the newly-named lobster.

**Author's Note:**

> Jehan ultimately decided against putting Lancelot du Lac in the man’s bed. He judged the remains of his wispy beard as an acceptable substitute to induce sheer mortal terror. The man would surely tremble before such hair. [cue ominous music]


End file.
